Tough to Cut
by CyanideMuffins7
Summary: Obsidian is tough to break, so is Lavellen. As the Herald of Andraste, she's bound by the duty of saving Thedas but she faces a constant struggle with her regarded fears, constant loneliness, her curse and trying to find herself. She's attempting to stay together, but will happen once she breaks? Rated T, for now.
1. Oleka

_Tough to Cut_

 **Disclaimer:** **I own nothing of Dragon Age or their characters or their stories. Bioware is to thank for bestowing us such amazing work. I only claim my own original character and any other made that character I have created.**

 ***Chapter names coined by the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows**

 _ **Author's Note:** Well...here we are. I'm currently taking a break from my other stories to craft this one. Most of what I'm doing is just playing it by ear, but then again, when have I not? So this is the story of one of my Inquisitor (yes there are more than one, don't ask me how many times I've played the game). It will kind of contain some headcanons as well. If you have heard of some other ones, I'd like to hear it cause headcanons are awesome. Another issue is I don't know who she's going to be paired with. I've got two in mind, but I can't decide between the two (spoiler alert: it's not Cullen)._

 _Anyways, feel free to leave a review, constructive criticism is always welcome. And yeah, enjoy._

 **Chapter 1: Oleka**

* * *

Haven was a place where many could not rest easily. Despite the amicable name given to the small settlement, it was for sure not a place where sweet dreams took place. The refugees could not sleep without interruption of a horrid nightmare, consuming all that their innocent minds could fathom. Soldiers faced a long day of training or marching the roads. But yet as they laid in their bedrolls they stared up at the chasm created in the sky, knowing the dangers that could swallow the world. The spies can close their eyes, but their minds are constantly aware of their surroundings. They live a life of exposing others and hiding in the shadows; sleeping left them vulnerable to the demons, mages and anyone that could stab them in the back. Many others came to terms with the giant hole in the sky and that one night of sleep could mean the end, but yet it couldn't. Nevertheless, there were always those select people that did not even bother to get any sleep at all. How could you when there were other pressing matters to attend to?

Then there was one person who was all the above but neglected to sleep because of the burden given.

The sound of metal scratching against chainmail and the clash of swords were almost like a lullaby to a curly haired man. The Commander's job was to observe the recruits and critique their techniques at the time. But no matter how much he claimed he doesn't mind the constant sound, he felt his eyes beginning to become heavy and his focus waning. It was always hard to tell with the Commander if he was drifting. Even though he felt tired, not once did he close his eyes for too long or lay his head down during a meeting with the advisers. He always stood erect and reserved his attention to his duties.

At the moment, he felt himself slouch and adjusted his posture. Once he rotated his head to his left he heard someone call him, "Commander." He turned his body to his right, seeing the Inquisition's spymaster, Leliana. Her face was never masked by the hood she wore. It was easy to see the wrinkles between her brows and her pupils trying to find an object to focus on. Usually, situations like these never occur. It made the Commander wonder what had happened. He knew Leliana to be the type to send one of her messengers to inform him of anything she's ordered, but yet she stands before him.

The matter must be truly pressing to have graced him with her presence.

"Yes, what is it?" He asked while casually resting his hand on the pommel of his sword.

Leliana stepped closer to a safe distance between the two and the soldiers around them. He assisted with the process by bowing his head as she leaned her head in and covered one side of her mouth, "The Herald is missing." She whispered soft enough for him to hear and to avoid other ears.

The Commander's head lifted back up and with an expression of confusion, "What? Are you sure she's not out on business?" He inquired.

She shook her head, "Not a chance. No one saw her leaving. If she were to travel, she would have brought company."

It was time to panic.

"You cannot find her? Even in this hold? It's not that difficult to spot a marked elf."

Leliana looked at him as if she took offense, that the spymaster wouldn't bother to check the Chantry first. It was the first thing she thought of in fact and to have the Commander ask that to her face, wounded her in the wrong place. Leliana clicked her tongue, "And you would not think it was the first place to look? No one has seen her since she returned from the Storm Coast."

"Do you think it is possible that she...was taken?"

Leliana's eyes looked away from him. It was a possibility. There were few times the Herald walked passed the frozen lake area and was gone for an hour or so, but she always came back. Perhaps, she could have gone missing then. Something did not settle well within the man's chest. It may have been a strange connection of anxiety that Leliana was feeling, or it could have been his own. Her eyes darted back to him, "It is impossible...but it is something that we cannot rule out. For now, we should search for her."

The Commander sighed heavily as he glanced back to the recruits, seeing if any had dislocated a shoulder or cut off a hand yet. He turned his attention back to the hooded woman, "I will check with the soldiers at the camp. In the mean time, I will send a few of the others to scout the perimeter and down the road. If she were to leave, she would not have traveled far."

"Good. I have Josephine already searching the Chantry with Vivienne. If we cannot find her in time, we must expand the search. Tell me if you found her, Cullen."

Leliana left to return to the Chantry while the Commander summoned a few of the soldiers to give out the new assignment. It was then Cullen spent the next two hours speaking with the soldiers on guard. He asked of her whereabouts after her return from the Storm Coast. Unfortunately, they couldn't remember seeing the elf around after she walked passed the gate. A while after he interviewed most of the guard, he received a report from one of Leliana's messengers that there was still no sign of her. When he walked back down to the training grounds to the soldiers, he ordered them to check by the mountains and scan the whole area again. Even as he gave out the orders, he couldn't get the idea out of his mind that she could have been taken. It was unlikely she would have since she spent most of her time in Haven. If she wasn't, she would be out on business for the Inquisition with a few of her companions. If there was a kidnap, then there would have been witnesses.

When the soldiers started to march off, he turned his back to them, "Damn it. Where are you, Levellan?"

* * *

The sun was slowly sinking behind the mountain tops. It was like a bright fish peeking from the waves of the sea to see what was around it before it would return back to its home. By this time, most of the Inquisition was searching for the Herald. The search had begun early in the afternoon but having it reach this caliber at this hour was beginning to worry many. Everyone was doing their part to look around for her. Blackwall, Sera, and Vivienne joined Leliana and some of her scouts to comb the area around Haven. The Iron Bull and the Chargers were searching the area up in the Frostback Mountains. Varric, Cassandra, and Solas were the only companions to remain back in Haven by harsh orders from the Seeker. After searching by the Apothecary, the trio made their way back to the Chantry.

"Did you check the dungeon?"

Varric raised his brow, "Why would she be in the dungeon?" He questioned.

Cassandra pouted while placing her hands on her hips, standing tall over the dwarf. It was her unconscious way of making her seem dominant. She raised her voice, "I do not know! We will not know if we do not check!"

"Why would we check a place where she won't be in?" Varric said as he stood his ground, not moving a muscle.

Cassandra's brows furrowed and her face grew red, "It maybe the last place she would be, but we must see. We will not know unless we look. Let's go!" She ordered as she pointed to the door to the stairs which lead to the dungeon.

While Cassandra and Varric were going back and forth, Solas was just a spectator watching the two bicker. There was no word he could insert between for there were no spaces he could interject. So he stood by the two, politely hearing to Cassandra's orders as well as Varric's rebuttals. Cassandra dropped her hands to her sides, "Fine. I shall see if she is in the dungeon. Continue to look in the other rooms, I will be back." She said as she stormed off toward the stairs.

Varric let out a sigh of relief once she left, "I tell 'ya, she really likes ordering people around." He muttered to himself. He started to walk down the hall, "I'll check the war room."

Solas was alone. Not even a Chantry sister or brother in sight. They left to help search within Haven. The Chantry was the first place to look and it was apparent she was not there. It was empty now. The only thing that could fill the void was the slight sound of the wind passing through the walls, or the air shift in the room. He considered most of the Chantry ambiance as silence, even at this hour.

The sounds repeated as he began to head towards Josephine's office when he heard a new sound. It was a sudden bump like an object had hit the wall. He turned his head over his shoulder toward the sound. There was no one there, but yet there was a new noise. Solas approached the wall and trailed beside it slowly while he kept his ears out for another sudden sound. He then stopped at the only object leaning against the wall, a table. He kneeled down beside the leg of the wooden furniture, and there she was.

The Herald was curled up, back facing the wall with a layer of what appeared to be bear fur blanketing her body up to her nose. There was a certain serenity to her expression, peaceful even. He knew she was having a good dream.

"For the love of Andraste...she's been here the entire time?" Varric whispered over Solas's shoulder, having returned from his search.

The mage nodded, "I would assume so."

"This is the first time she's slept in days. The kid needs it." Varric said with a soft chuckle. It was true, the Herald had not closed her eyes and relaxed for a while now. She was too busy searching the Hinterlands through its rocky terrain and getting what needs to be done. Albeit, she had been able to accomplish so much within a few days, but she was still flesh and blood. Varric recalled how tired she would look at times. When he suggested they rest at camp she acquiesced to his advice. Although, her idea of resting seemed to be sitting while looking over her journal to her next task. Rest should have been the first priority on that list.

"I am afraid we cannot have her sleeping here. Many would probably want to know that she has been found." Solas whispered before he reached out and placed his hand on where her shoulder was. The mere touch had triggered for her eyes to open in a daze. It was entrancing to watch. Her eyes were like a summer sunset, a deep purple around her iris with a dot of orange surrounding her pupil. Her eyes were truly unique. One would never look out a window to watch the sunset if they could just look into her eyes.

She looked up, seeing the two men staring with a soft bear pelt over her. She was previously captivated within a deep dream of pastel lights and shining red apples when she felt a warm touch through the pelt. She, at first, was curious about why Solas and Varric were looking at her. But she had almost forgotten entirely that she decided to rest here before she headed to the war room. At the time, she was drained and she knew that if she were to attend one of the war council meetings, she would surely sleep through it. She wanted to spare herself the embarrassment and rested underneath one of the few available tables in the Chantry. The Herald uncovered the pelt over her mouth, "Did you have to wake me up?" She asked with her voice soft from her blissful sleep.

"I am afraid we had to. All of Haven has been searching for you. They are concerned that the worst had happened." Solas answered while she detected a hint of concern in his tone.

The Herald frowned, "They have been searching for me? How long have I been asleep?"

"All afternoon."

The Herald's eyes widened, "All afternoon!? And they went to look for me for that long?" She exclaimed as she raised her head from its resting position.

The dwarf saw this as an opportunity to tease the poor elf woman, "Yes indeed. In fact, most of the Inquisition is outside the gates looking through the mountains or circumventing the area. Most of our friends have joined in the search as well. We went through great lengths to find you."

The Herald felt truly guilty. Here was the Inquisition, trekking mountains and searching the roads for her when she was innocently sleeping underneath a table that held a candle. Varric continued, "Last I checked they started to expand their search. Curly just sent out a few platoons to march up and down the roads."

She brought her hands to cover her face, "Oh Creators, this is my fault!" she groaned. She was prepared to pull the bear fur to blanket her entire body and pretend she was no longer there. But she had to fix things, otherwise the guilt would eat her up.

The two men stepped back as she crawled from underneath the table, stretching as she stood up, "I should apologize for this misunderstanding. I did not expect others to go to great lengths to search for me." She commented as she brushed off remnants of bear fur on her shirt.

An apology was in order.

* * *

No scout or soldier reported the news the Spymaster or Commander wanted to hear. The scouts nor the soldiers saw no sign of the elf woman. Finally, it came to the final decision to further expand their search, beyond the area. It was just a simple nod to the other before they began to order their troops and spies to go beyond the roads and the marked areas of where the Herald might be.

Then came the lone messenger from Haven.

Cullen was in the middle of giving orders to search through the Fallow Mire when the messenger pushed his way through all the soldiers to reach the Commander. Cullen was frustrated as it was by the lack of progress they were making and a piece of him-the part he would never let anyone know about-was filled with worry. When the messenger approached him, he was quite angered by the interjection. But after an afternoon and a part of the evening, he received good news.

"We found the Herald, sir."

Any sign of anger on his face had deliquesced before the messenger's eyes with a simple blink. Thank the Maker, he thought.

"Is she safe?" He asked. The messenger nodded, "She's safe."

He felt the strangely heavy burden lighten in his chest at those words. Relief had settled. Thankfully she was safe, but the Commander wondered of how they found her. He had to ask, "And where was she?"

The messenger looked away from Cullen and brought his arm to his neck. What was the messenger hiding, he thought. Cullen straightened his back and pressed, "Well?"

The messenger looked back to the tall man and exhaled, "They found her back in Haven...at the Chantry...sleeping underneath a table..."

There were no words. He sent a majority of his troops on the road to look for the Herald when she was at the Chantry tire time? Most importantly, how did Leliana, Left Hand to the Divine and an experienced Spymaster, overlook the Herald underneath a table? If Leliana would have looked harder at the Chantry he would not have had to waste all afternoon sending a search party. He would have to have a few choice words with Leliana. As Cullen stood in silence, he could hear Sera cackle in the background.

* * *

After experiencing embarrassment to its highest degree by making a public apology to the Inquisition and the people of Haven in front of the Chantry, everyone was finally able to rest as much as they could that night. Even though the incident was just a mere innocent misunderstanding, Josephine would not let the Herald slide so easily. The elf was sitting in front of the war table, organizing operations and preparing reports to make up for the meeting she missed. It was tedious work, but she did not mind it at all. Everything was going to a good cause. It was worth having to sift through papers and move the tokens on the map for an hour. Rest wasn't something she needed nor was it something she wanted to return to at the moment.

Her dreams were usually erratic and very seldom peaceful. The Fade was a terrible place to get stuck in while dreaming. Typically there would be demons hidden away with the area around her being something familiar but perverted from her memory. Other times it would be somewhere completely new. Ever since she received the mark, the dreams were worse. Her decision to not rest was in partial to her nightmares. The more she dwelled on what was concrete, the less time she would have to spend in dreams of terror. Perhaps it was due to her lack of sleep that caused her dream to be so tranquil and to have remained still in her restful state. These are the things she could not tell everybody of course. She did not want the Inquisition nor her companions to bother with something so trivial as that. It was something she had since as long as she can remember and the years of toil had strengthened her tolerance against it. It's just that if she was able to choose between being in a nightmare or not, she would rather choose to not suffer.

"Are you still here?"

The Herald peeked over her shoulder to see Cullen standing by the door. Her head followed as he walked to the other side of the war table. The Herald nodded, "Josephine did not jest when she said she would put me to work." She said as she moved one of Leliana's tokens on the Fereldan map.

Cullen could not help but let a small smile creep in his lips. She reflected his pleased gesture as she looked down at the bell token in her hand. She fiddled with the object when he spoke, "And Josephine is always true to her word."

She let out a quiet chuckle, one that the Commander could not hear, but he could see in her smile. That smile always seemed to tug at him. Just a simple gesture that everyone did, but hers he had a weakness for. Her lips were small, and any movement made was little, yet one could see hers were genuine. When she smiled, her lips shielded her gums and her teeth were the focal point. The corners were asymmetrical, making her smile crooked. Yet it was still lovely and warm.

Levellan was a pretty face to some, a common feature many included when discussing the Herald. It was somewhere along the lines of, 'The Herald of Andraste is that heretic, right? I heard she was an elf, but a pretty one'. It was the Maker's blessing that he wasn't acting like a dumb fool in front of her. Had they had met almost a decade earlier, she would have taken him as a fool for sure. When they first met he maintained his composure around her like a well-built fortress. But he could not forget the time she first smiled, just at him. He remembered that moment when it felt like someone knocked at his walls and he almost caved in. He lost his words after that, and thankfully a scout saved his hide before he had to suffer an awkward silence.

He watched as the Herald placed down the token on the Fereldan map, "At least it is comforting knowing that if I do end up getting lost or taken, I have a whole force that would look for me as well as advisers who can manage them."

"We are glad to have found you when we did. Otherwise, we would have been tearing Fereldan apart to find you." he responded while looking down at the map.

He snuck a quick glance at her and saw that smile again. He was unsure of what he felt. This feeling was similar to the mage back in the Lake Calenhald Circle. Although he had matured since then and was capable of handling these sort of affairs, he still felt like he couldn't keep it together. He would get distracted by her during the war council meetings, most of the time Leliana caught him in the act. He felt he anticipated her visits to the training grounds too often, often enough where if she didn't show he would be gravely disappointed. Most of all, his mind would wander to the common question: does she feel the same way? To that, Cullen was unsure. It was difficult to see in her actions. He could tell she enjoyed his company and their conversations. She was a very curious one, always asking questions about templar life, Kirkwall or _his_ own life. He appreciated discussing these things as well, but he wasn't the only one she talked to. She spoke with everyone, perhaps spent equal time with each of her companions. But he saw her the most with that mage elf, Solas. He could see why, they had much in common, besides the fact that they were elves. He would also occasionally see her by the armory with that Gray Warden. He was curious about their conversations, but never brought a word of his intrigue to her. It was rude and he didn't want to give her the wrong idea.

He turned away, there was no way he could be alone with her like this. He was afraid if he spoke another word he would begin to stutter. Cullen made his way to the door, "Take care of yourself Levellan, good night." He said as he opened the door.

The Herald turned from her chair, "There's no need for formalities, Cullen. You can call me Saskia."

He didn't pass the doorway. He turned back to her, staring at her captivating eyes that ensnared anyone that beheld its appearance. "You are one of the few who stills call me Levellan. Josephine and Leliana call me by my name. Why is it that you do not?" She asked, tilting her head.

It was well-organized formalities really. He referred to her as the Herald when he spoke to his forces or guests. When they all stood at the war table, he called her Levellan while Josephine and Leliana used her given name freely. At first she thought it was something Cullen just did, but he called the other two advisers by their first names, why not her?

He cleared his throat, "I'm sorry. I call my soldiers by their surnames. I...I must be accustomed to it."

She rested her arms on the top of the chair and laid her chin on her hands, smiling. He knew the formalities were to be professional. But where she was raised, titles like Herald and Levellan were perhaps foreign.

"Very well, _Commander_." She commented with a mocking grin, "Good night."

The last thing she heard before he closed the door behind him was a soft chuckle that eased her anxiety. She turned back to the war table and filed out the parchments.


	2. Adronitis

_Tough to Cut_

 **Disclaimer:** **I own nothing of Dragon Age or their characters or their stories. Bioware is to thank for bestowing us such amazing work. I only claim my own original character** **s** **and any other made that character I have created.**

 ***Chapter names coined by the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows**

 **Chapter 2: Adronitis**

* * *

The Venatori prowler was swift in his movements and deadly in his strikes. But so was Cassandra. She rammed her shield before the Prowler could react and Saskia shot a bolt of lightning to paralyze the enemy. The Seeker finished the Venatori with just a stroke of her sword.

The Storm Coast was mostly gray and was no foreigner to rain of either degree of harsh or light. It was a port of sort for ships to come in and out and it as well as a home for bandits to camp by the shores. However, since the Inquisition scouts arrived, the number of hostile bandits slowly deteriorated over a period of time. Not to mention the new alliance with the bandits in the area. Now the Herald and her companions were able to travel across the coastline without finding much danger with the exception of the stray bandits and Venatori prowling the area.

The Herald kneeled down in front of the chest in the small camp site, where a few scattered papers laid without disturbance from the coastal winds. Blackwall approached alongside her, "That will help the Wardens for sure." He commented as she picked up the parchments.

She stood up and handed Blackwall the treaties with kindness in her eyes with a few bats of the eyelashes while a tender smile was returned. In the distance, she detected faint voices that called her attention. The four turned their heads in the direction they heard it from. Cassandra placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, "More Venatori?" She wondered aloud. Varric shook his head, "If it were Venatori, they would at least have some courtesy to keep their voices down."

Saskia agreed with Varric on the matter. The voices sounded loud and rambunctious, almost as if they were shouting at one another. If anything, they were either bandits or perhaps their own scouts. "What should we do?" Blackwall questioned.

The Herald placed her finger on her lip as she thought. It would be a better conservation of energy to avoid these people entirely, but where was the fun in that? Plus it could not have hurt to see what the tumult was about. She brought her hand back to her side, "Let us see who these people are."

The bickering voices were their guide as the Herald led the three passed the trees. As the four grew closer, the voices became slightly more audible. After walking up a deep incline where the four did not cross the small line of trees. Blackwall and Cassandra hid behind the foliage while Varric and the Herald kneeled behind a tall bush. The Herald peeked through the opening in the branches to see four figures standing over a pile of green plasm.

The dwarf was probably the most visible out of the four since he was at her eye level. He wasn't an attractive dwarf, but she had none to compare it to so matters of physical attractiveness only went so far. His hair was wispy like that of a growing babe's and colored like the autumn leaves. The same color matched his beard that were gathered into two neat braids. His skin was pale, like cream but sullied with sun burns on his cheeks nose and forehead. The dwarf stood before one of the other figures, "We could have got our rumps cooked! You're a Templar, you should know how to handle these...things."

"You blame me? You blame _me_!? You're the one who bound me, Dwarf!" This voice came from a suit of Templar armor. He was difficult to see, but from his accent she recognized his accent to be Antivian. The Dwarf waved his hand casually, "That's no excuse! _You_ had years of training to kill these things. _I_ had years of training in using a sword and shield."

"I have no excuse!? _That_ is no excuse! I shoot at a _distance_ , not up close. Are you daft?"

A new voice interjected. Based on his regal accent he sounded like a Free Marcher; a noble, "Gentlemen, please. Pointing fingers is not going to defend us against more of these things. Unless it does and if so, we've done it wrong this entire time."

The Templar turned his attention to the Free Marcher. "This is no time for your shit, Trevelyen."

The Free Marcher snickered, "Sorry Princess. Perhaps I should put it in a box and wrap a nice bow around it then."

The Herald assumed the Templar fumed with rage, based on the silence. Then the fourth figure, who she only saw as legs, walked up to them with a cool yet feminine voice, "You three are idiots. Stop the senseless bickering, another demon may come."

The dwarf nodded in agreement, "Yeah, listen to Man Arms here."

The woman's boot kicked the dwarf behind the knee, causing him to grunt in pain and eject, "Balls!" as he hopped on one foot, "Why would you do that? I'm agreeing with you!"

"Call me Man Arms again and I will punt you over this cliff."

"That beak of hers really jabs at you, doesn't it?" The Free Marcher added.

The woman turned to the man and a long electric whip emitted from her left hand, from what seemed like out of nowhere. Perhaps it was due tot he fact she couldn't see her case the spell since the bush obscured most of her vision.

"I'll kill you!" She shouted as she whipped the ground. The Free Marcher hopped back, "Calm down, love. I haven't even got you into bed yet and you already cracked out the whip.", he snickered.

With each crack, the Free Marcher dodged each hit while the Dwarf and the Templar continued to argue.

The Herald pulled away from the bush to look to her companions, "It's chaotic." Cassandra whispered. She turned to Varric for a comment, "I've never seen so many people wanting to kill each other at once...on second thought-"

All sound was deafened by the rift that opened up over the bickering group. Their eyes were locked on the green rip above their heads. At this point, there was no sense in hiding since a rift had opened. The Herald stood up as she gripped her staff in her hand. Her companions followed their leader's example and prepared their weapons. But she didn't notice the Templar was already in front of one of the trees with his back facing them. As he pulled his arm back, he elbowed the poor Seeker in the face. Cassandra held her nose within her palm while the Templar turned and stepped back with his arrow pointing between her stern eyes. Before a word could have been uttered, the beams appeared from the rift and demons began to spawn. At this point, the bickering group welcomed their help.

After the final wave was dealt with, the Dwarf tried to approach her, "So who are-"

The Herald didn't notice him since her prime was focus was the rift. She walked passed the man, held her hand out in the air while the green light emanated from her palm. She found the process of closing rifts difficult to describe. The closest explanation Solas was able to get out of her, was like "reeling in a fish". It was the feeling of energy that passed between her hand and the rift, constantly pulling as she felt something on the other end struggling. The more rifts she closed, the more she was accustomed to the feeling. Yet each day, and each hour, she could feel the mark fester like a deep wound. In a blink of an eye, the rift was sealed shit. They were safe.

The Herald turned to the four strangers, who still had their eyes glued to the empty space above their heads. This was a common reaction among people outside the Inquisition. Her companions enacted precaution and kept a small distance from the other group. If the strangers were willing to kill each other, they would have no problem with killing the ones before them.

The Templar was the first to look away and to the Herald. In her eyes, his countenance was leeched of life. He had olive toned skin while deprived of a lively glow while his ebony hair was limp. He spoke, "You are the Herald of Andraste?"

The Free Marcher grinned, "Ah, the rumors are true. Andraste chose a rather beautiful woman as her herald." Her lip flattened and her brows lowered. She had grown to dislike these rumors people, especially the human nobles, were saying about her, even though many would take it as a compliment. She felt uncomfortable about it, especially coming out of a stranger. But she could see that he must have been well informed in the rumors by his appearance. The Free Marcher dressed in ornate attire guarded by pieces of armor that still accentuated his garb. He would be what many would call a handsome man but people like the Herald would call him trouble.

Then there was the Qunari. She stood tall out of the four with a thin face, deep crimson eyes and hair as white as the feathers of a dove, tied back in a wavy coil. Unlike the few Qunari she's seen, this one only had one horn that curled like that of a mountain goat. She was a mage based on her previous display, but she didn't dress in the traditional robes. She wore a metal plate over a collared undershirt with leather pants that hugged her legs. Her arms were exposed as well as her stomach that displayed her abs.

"Flattery is not going to put you on her good side." The Qunari woman chided as she stood behind the two human men.

The Free Marcher chuckled as he turned his head to the Qunari, "No worries, my flattery is to be shared. You are a challenge, but I haven't given up on you yet." He teased with a wink. The woman rolled her eyes while audibly voicing her disgust.

This was awkward.

"Yes, I am the Herald...and you four are?"

Three sets of eyes were suddenly on her. The silence and the attention made her feel uneasy as if she was supposed to know. The Dwarf finally spoke, "We're survivors of the Conclave."

Confusion stirred within the Herald's group. Cassandra spoke up, "Nonsense. Our scouts searched through the remains of the temple and the Herald was the only living being there."

"Well, yes, she is the lone survivor of the Conclave. We survived by simply leaving early." The Free Marcher responded, "I was at the Conclave to support few of my relatives in the Order. At some point in the whole chaos of the meeting, I walked out," He nodded towards the Qunari, "I saw her chasing our dwarven friend her and the rest, as they say is history."

Blackwall nodded to the Templar, "Your story didn't include him."

"We found him much later. We were wandering the area near the Bann when Tall, Dark and Handsome over here," The Dwarf began while her pointed to the Free Marcher, "spotted our fellow Templar being pursued by these...freakish Templars."

"Freakish? Were they _that_ ugly? I'm sure their mothers love to hear that." Varric joked. The Free Marcher smiled, "They were atrocious, ghastly things. Some didn't even look human anymore."

The Templar spat on the ground by the Dwarf's boot. He looked at the small man with a loathing gaze before he spoke, "And now I'm his slave." He grumbled as he raised his hands before him. Latched onto his wrists were cuffs made of an unrecognizable material adorned with runes and a bright sheen. There was no chain to bind them together so he could move his arms freely. The cuffs seemed to be a decoration.

The Herald decided to inquire about the cuffs. While the Templar appeared vexed, the Dwarf grinned from ear to ear. He pointed to the cuffs, "I made them and he's my first test. So far, they work well."

Her eyes were swimming with questions, "I...do not understand. You could still leave if they are merely cuffs." She suggested to the Templar.

A hearty laugh escaped his throat before he spoke, "Oh, he's tried that once and he's not going to do be trying again. I'm not going to explain to you simple folk what it's made out of or how it works. In the layman's terms, the cuffs prevent him from leaving my perimeter thanks to his beautiful thing here." He explained as he held up a rock with a strange rune etched onto it, "If he leaves, the cuffs will tighten and insert a hefty amount of lightening into his body. It's amazing, isn't it?" he told with pride in his eyes.

The Herald thought it sounded impressive, yet painful. She questioned in her mind if they had a reason to bind this Templar. She understood they receded from the Chantry and went rogue with Lord Seeker Lucius, but what did this specific man do?

Varric decided to ask the question running through his leader's mind, "Pardon your Dwarven pride, but what was his crime?"

The Free Marcher spoke, "We heard the Templars were up to some abhorrent deeds. I witnessed him striking down a perfectly fine Templar before he was chased. Seeing those disgusting Templars allowed us to act."

The Dwarf's gestured to the Templar,"And look at him...I mean...he looks like total shit." He added.

The Templar pinched the bridge of his nose, "I _keep_ telling you, it's from the lyrium-regular-lyrium withdrawal."

The Dwarf rolled his eyes, "This one here is filled with excuses." This appeared to be the Templar's breaking point. He glared down at his captor and reached his arms out, "I will strangle you!" he shouted. The Dwarf stepped back, placed his hand over the rune and in an instant the Templar began to convulse until he fell face first on the ground. Silence glazed over the groups.

The Dwarf returned the rune to his pocket, "No worries, he'll be fine. He'll just wake up in a few hours." he reassured. "His mouth may froth a little but, like I said, he'll be fine."

The Herald's eyes went to Cassandra who was shaking her head. The Inquisition did need people but maybe these particular group of people were not stable enough. But then again who was? As she returned her gaze to the four, the Qunari spoke, "If you are the Herald you must be a part of the Inquisition. If so, would you be willing to put us to work? Maker knows these halfwits need to keep busy."

The Dwarf added, "Well with the three of us, we would be one and a halfwits." The Qunari did not give him a vocal response, just a menacing glare.

The Free Marcher nodded at his colleague's proposal, "You will be getting the best. We can guarantee you that."

The Herald didn't know what she needed to say. These four were obviously chaotic, dysfunctional at best. But when they fought they complimented each other. Not to mention they were able, willing bodies, volunteering to give to the Inquisition. She thought recruiting them may not be such a bad idea, even if Cassandra may disapprove due to their obvious flaws.

Regardless of what Cassandra had thought, the Herald made her decision, "The Inquisition can use..." she looked down at the Templar's body as it twitched, "...the four of you. Report to Haven and the advisers will see to your assignments."

The Dwarf smiled from ear to ear with excitement in his voice, "We won't disappoint you. We can promise you that." The others did not seem to exude the same excitement as the dwarf, especially the Qunari.

"Introductions are in order. I am Etrie, surface dwarf." He then nudged the Templar with his foot, "And this here is Mariano."

The Qunari stood erect, with her hand on her hip and her chin held up high as if she looked down on everyone, which she was. She introduced with little effort and in one breath, "Lior."

The Free Marcher was the most civil of the four. His posture snapped straight and he placed his right hand over his heart, "And you may call me Pen, milady" he introduced while he bowed his head.

After the formalities were taken care of, Etrie turned to Mariano's unconscious body, "Well someone is going to have to carry him again." He looked over to Pen, "I'm afraid not. Last time I carried him he punched my nose and almost dislocated my shoulder." Their eyes then went to Lior. She looked down at the two men, eyes dark with the line of her mouth tracing the shape of a hill. The three were merely exchanging glances until a grunt slipped through her frown and pushed the two men aside. She was able to pick up the armored Antivian and tossed him over her shoulder as if he was a sack of flour.

The Herald did not realize what she had gotten herself into.


End file.
